


Nothin' Like Your Love

by inyouratmosphere



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Height difference, Size Difference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-09-28 20:44:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20432171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inyouratmosphere/pseuds/inyouratmosphere
Summary: Sometimes, all you need is the right soundtrack, and the right person, to make even a simple moment magical.





	Nothin' Like Your Love

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! To cut a long story short, I love Chris Stapleton’s music. This particular song is one of my favourites, and is the soundtrack to a cute idea I had – lots of Hopper fluff! It kinda has to take place in a modern-day Hawkins, since the album _ Traveller _ was released in 2015. In my head though, everything else is still in the 80s bar that album. You should absolutely check out Chris Stapleton if you haven’t listened to him before, he is truly so talented with a beautiful voice. Obviously, I own none of the lyrics or rights to the album, full copyright for that goes to Chris Stapleton and Mercury Records. I had to change it a little bit to what I had initially written, because even though the full lyrics were never going to be in the fic, a bigger chunk were, and I don’t know how much I’ll be able to use without it being classed as copyright infringement (hence the disclaimer). I could’ve kept going with the writing at the end, but I think I would have ended up babbling and going off on a tangent. Hope you enjoy!

It had been a long day. You get home, exhausted, after a very stressful shift at work. Although you are lucky to not only have a job but love it too, like everyone else, you have days that seem to completely wipe you out physically and mentally – today had been one of those days. Jim wasn’t home yet – no surprise there – in the two and a half years you’d been together, there had only been a couple of occasions that he had arrived home before you. He was nearly always, if not always, the last at the station- he took his role as Chief of Police _ very _ seriously. You know he loves his job too, despite what he may say when something or someone has pissed him off (which was almost a daily occurrence). A surge of love for Jim travels through you, as you think of the man who spends his days protecting the residents of Hawkins, then comes home to you, always happy to see you despite what might have happened at work for him. 

Looking at your watch, you saw it was just after six thirty. On a normal Wednesday, Jim is scheduled to finish at six, so you guess it will be at least another half-hour before he gets home. You shower, and some of the stresses of the day seem to trickle down the drain along with the water. When you’re out of the shower, you don’t feel like putting on pyjamas just yet, so instead you opt for a pair of leggings and a shirt of Jim’s. He wouldn’t be surprised to see you in it, he had grown used to you “borrowing” his clothes, in fact, he absolutely loved seeing you in them. Before putting the shirt on, you lifted it to your face, closing your eyes and breathing his familiar scent in. It was a mixture of cologne, the shower gel he used, and the faint hints of smoke. You suddenly wanted nothing more than to be in his arms, to feel the gentle strength of his embrace. Being almost a foot taller than you, when he hugged you, you could tuck your head under his chin. It was your favourite place in the world to be, close to him, feeling his arms around you. His soft but strong body made you feel safer than anything or anybody else in the world – he was your safe haven. Snapping out of your little internal bubble, you put the shirt on, check the clock in your room – 6:55 – and decide to go make a start on dinner, hoping that you time it correctly so it’s ready for when Jim gets home. You were thinking stir fry, as you knew you had all the ingredients in, so you go to the kitchen and wash your hands ready to go. 

Before you make a start, you decide to put on some music to accompany you whilst you cook. You walk over to your record player, switching it on. Jim had chuckled when you first purchased it and had told him your plan to put it in the kitchen. _ ‘Why do you want it in the kitchen, hon? It won’t get used there!’ _ To which you’d grinned at him, simply raising your eyebrows and saying _ ‘just you wait and see!’ _ Consequently, it had been the source of entertainment for summer evenings with friends, and many a Sunday morning slow-dance, one of your favourite things to do together. Jim grumbled the first time you had asked him to dance with you, mumbling that he couldn’t dance and he was lousy at it, but you didn’t care. You asked him again, looking up into his face, and knew from the twinkle in his eyes what the answer was going to be. So you looped your arms around his neck, his hands gently resting on your waist as you placed your head against his chest, hearing the steady beat of his heart. The first song you ever danced to together was Otis Redding’s _ These Arms of Mine _ , playing from the Dirty Dancing record. You adored the film and thought the soundtrack was perfect, so Jim had come home one evening and surprised you with it, and you’d been so excited, you proceeded to play it straight away. A sort of homely tradition had been born that evening, and you’d lost count of the number of hours you’d spent holding each other, Jim often bending down so his lips were grazing your shoulder, or to rest his head against yours, humming gently to the music. It was something that never failed to make you feel so content, and made you feel like you were the only two people in the entire world in those moments. 

You knew just the record you wished to listen to, and you smiled as you located it within the case full of your vinyl collection. You carefully removed the first LP out of its sleeve, one of the two vinyls making up Chris Stapleton’s _ Traveller _ album. You placed the record on the turntable and as it started to play, you make a start on dinner. You had the noodles boiling in a pan and the other ingredients starting to sizzle in the wok as you sang your way through the second track, _ Fire Away _ , one of your favourites on the album. You make your way over to the record player to turn it up ready for the next track – without a doubt your favourite on the album and one of your favourite Chris Stapleton songs. As it starts, you close your eyes momentarily, getting lost in the feeling the song never fails to bring you. As Chris began to sing about how he spent his nights, you went over and got the plates, starting to set the table. This was quickly done, and you went back over to the noodles, stirring them as they were almost done. _ “But you rescued me from reaching for the bottle, and brought me back from being too far gone…”_ you sang, in your own little world. You were about to drain the pan when a strong pair of arms slowly wrapped around your waist, making you jump. You hadn’t even heard the door open, let alone the soft pad of footsteps across the kitchen floor, the music being a giveaway as to where to find you. 

_ “You’re as smooth as Tennessee whiskey…“ _ Jim began to sing softly, his lips skimming your earlobe. His stubble brushes your neck, causing a shiver to run down your spine and goosebumps to appear on your arms. You start to sway together, your bodies finding synchronicity as they always do, relaxing your back into his chest. His hands settle around your waist, just above your belly button. Your hands rest atop his, and you slide your fingers through his, lacing them together. Jim is humming about you being as sweet as strawberry wine, his lips still near your ear, pausing briefly to place soft, tender kisses along your jaw. You turn around, winding your arms around his neck, crossing your hands in a v-like shape between his shoulder blades. Jim’s hands move to your hips, the warmth from him radiating through the material of your clothes and onto your skin. _ “You’re as warm as a glass of brandy, and honey I stay stoned on your love all the time…” _ Jim finishes the chorus, his blue eyes twinkling as he looks into your eyes. You feel as though he’s looking into your soul – as cliché and cheesy as that may sound, there is just no other way to describe that look. Your heart still beats so quickly under his intense gaze, even after all this time. You beam, your hands move to his face and gently cup his cheeks. You watch as his eyes close from your touch, a look of contentment settling over his face. Looking at him, you think about how much you love him, how you would do absolutely anything for him, and couldn’t ever imagine your life without him. You lean closer into him and reach up on tiptoes, resting your forehead against his, the ends of your noses touching.  
‘Hi baby,’ you say after a few more moments of contented silence between you, the record playing having been temporarily forgotten about. He opens his eyes, returning the smile, the corners of his moustache lifting upwards.  
‘Hey, sweet thing,’ Jim murmurs softly, his lips finding yours effortlessly. The dinner could burn for all you cared, this was the only thing that mattered to you. He gives you a slow, loving kiss, your bodies moulding together, two pieces of a puzzle fitting together once more.


End file.
